A Gun and an Insane Glint
by Ochiba Konpeki
Summary: All you really need to be a monster is a gun and an insane glint in your eye. Warning, contains rape.
1. Chapter 1

_So it's not an update to Obsessed. Or PDA. Or Angel. Or Hero. Or anything else. _... _But it is fun! This is a story about my worst irrational fear._

**A Gun and An Insane Glint**

Everyone was asleep. After five long days spent exploring Chicago (after a sixteen hour drive to get there, mind you), the South Park High Juniors were fast asleep, halfway through the fourteen hour drive from there to New York. It was a little past one-they're get there around seven, ready to start the day and be exposed to 'culture' and 'city life' and to tour a couple colleges, like CUNY. Many of the kids-nearly everyone had scraped together the money to come (Kyle, Stan and reluctantly Cartman funded Kenny to go)-had never left the state before under non-terrifying circumstances. They'd all been looking forward to this trip for years-since they first heard about it in Middle School.

Kyle was tucked into Stan's side; Kenny was curled up in his seat and Cartman was slumped against the window; Wendy and Bebe were huddled together under a blanket; Clyde had fallen asleep on a mildly disgruntled Token's shoulder; Tweek was in Craig's lap; Butters was sitting with Red (the only co-ed set on the bus) and they nervously pressed away from each other, even in sleep.

One little boy, however, was an insomniac. He was sitting in the very front, next to their stalker-like English teacher, Mr. Garrison. His eyes were wide open and questioning, calmly surveying the group with an heir of boredom. He had skipped six grades out of sheer intelligence and disdain for doing easy work and now was in class with his older brother, so the out-of-place feeling that came with being the only one awake didn't bother him. He seemed very relaxed in the quiet of midnight, but really, he was worried. Because he'd stayed awake several nights with this bus driver, and every night, at exactly midnight, he popped two large, white capsules from a pharmacy-issue orange pill bottle. The boy hadn't paid this much mind-the pills could've been for anything, and though Mr. Drake seemed unhappy with them, he took them.

But not tonight. Tonight, when the clock struck midnight, the boy watched silently as the driver mechanically picked up the pill bottle, looked at it, scowled darkly and threw it out the window.

He was driving too fast now-almost twenty miles over the speed limit. He occasionally drifted into the other lane and the boy was quietly thankful that they were on a deserted road in the middle of fucking nowhere. He glanced at their old, confused, contently unconscious teacher and wondered if he should tell someone what was happening.

His fears increased when the driver suddenly jerked off the road and onto a little dirt path leading into the thick pine forests lining each side of the road. But he calmed himself, telling himself he was overreacting. He examined the driver-he was young, around mid-twenties, with overlong, curly brown hair and unextraordinary brown eyes. He was about average height and looked as though he might've run track in High School. Nothing really interesting to speak of.

The path twisted through the night like a snake, silent and dark and dangerous. The boy's heart was in his throat, fear rising in his chest as they drove deeper and deeper into the middle of nowhere.

The bus rattled to a stop. The headlights clicked off, wrapping the bus in darkness as the engine gave out. 'Just an issue with the engine,' the boy thought frantically, watching the completely still man sit like a statue, as though he'd forgotten how to move, 'Or maybe he just has to pee.'

But the silence and the stillness and the darkness told him otherwise.

The boy started panicking, tugging on the teacher's sleeves, trying to wake him up, eyes fixed on the driver. Mr. Garrison refused to stir, however, even as the boy whimpered in terror, watching as the bus driver slowly turned towards him, eyes locking on the boy's.

These were not the eyes of a man-they were the eyes of a monster.

The boy screamed, instantly jerking the entire class awake. The teens jolted upright, rubbing at their eyes as they tried to adjust to the darkness, blinking away the remnants of sleep as they tried to gather their bearings. "Ike?" Kyle called worriedly, still half asleep. He knew what his brother's fear sounded like, and that was most certainly it.

Mr. Drake stood, eyes sweeping over the group with a maniacal grin spreading across his lips. The children quickly alerted themselves to the situation, fear shining through their confusion as they looked to one another. The man flexed his fingers and Ike looked down at his hand, heart skipping a beat as he recognized the faint shape in the darkness.

The man slowly leveled the gun up to shoulder level, pointing it at first Wendy, then Kenny, then Ike. Several screams cut through the silence as the man's hand shot down to fist in the Canadian's long black hair, yanking him up and tugging him against his chest, pressing the barrel up against the area just past his mandible. "You're just a kid!" he snarled, an animalistic note to his voice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Ike was too scared to move, to speak, merely closing his eyes and feeling himself shake.

"Let him go."

Big brothers are told at a very young age that it is their obligation-no, their duty to protect their little siblings. And if said charges are in danger, most will rise to the occasion-including one Kyle Broflovski, though really, he would've stood and stared the man with the gun down no matter who it was that was being threatened. It was part of what made Kyle _Kyle_.

The man's eyes roved over the redhead's form, taking in his defiant stance, his beautiful, confident green gaze, his fists clenched in preparation to fight, all this contrasting his obvious fragility-short, underweight. It was tantalizing, someone so strong yet so weak-the perfect victim, the man's twisted, broken mind told him. It'd been a long time since he'd had a victim. And he saw the worry and fear in everyone's eyes, not just for themselves, but for this teen.

This child was important. Wonderful.

"I'll trade you." the driver offered, a smirk quirking his lips, an insane glint in his eye. "You for him. C'mon, Ginger, I want you with a gun in your mouth..."

"Kyle, don't-"

The redhead fixed the tall, well built noirette who had spoken with a firm gaze. "Quiet, Stanley." he murmured. Slowly, he advanced forwards, palms up, wrists out. A show of submission. The driver bit his lip, shoving the gun more harshly into the boy's chin. "Come here."

As soon as the redhead was within reach, Ike was thrown into his panicked teacher and the redhead was snatched up, quickly pulled into the same position his adoptive brother was in a moment before, gracefully taking the gun to his throat and tilting his head back accordingly, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The student's teacher finally found his voice, "What do you want?"

The man laughed, an insane, monstrous noise. "I want to see you all scarred for life." he crowed. "I want to see all of you in tears, I want to see you all looking over your shoulders, I want to see you locking your doors, clinging to your mothers, crying at night..." he smile dropped. "I want to see you all broken."

His eyes slid down to the mess of red curls beneath him. "Especially this one."

Throughout the bus, students discretely dug out their phones, only to see that there was no signal. No way out. People began to shake. Butters was the first to start crying.

Kenny bravely stood and the bus driver fixed a hateful gaze on him. "Let me make this clear." his eyes swept over the group as a whole. "Anyone trying to be a hero will get pretty boy here shot, not themselves."

Rage burning bright in his clear blue eyes, the blond forced himself to sit.

"So what should I do to all you delightful children?" he crooned coldly. No one replied, of course. "The same thing dear old dad did to me?"

He tried to engage several people in staring contests, but the only ones willing to stare him down were the blond, the brunette next to him and the raven that had tried to stop the victim. They would shatter the hardest, watching the redhead break, the man figured. But how to break such a boy? How to take away his sense of self, how to shatter him?

... The same way his mother was shattered by his father? The thought excited him, sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, singing in his blood. He couldn't remember why he had ever taken his medication-he felt alive.

Drake slowly moved the gun from his throat to the back of his head, the soft spot right above his neck. "Brace yourself." he ordered, watching the redhead comply cautiously, leaning forward and clenching his fists around the second seat's shoulder on each side, his baby brother on one side of him, Tweek and Craig on the other. Kyle tried to smile reassuringly at his classmates but only managed a grimace, tensing to keep himself in place as the man rubbed his free hand invasively over his back, trailing fingers across the ridges of his spine and his jutting ribs.

"I'm going to take you." Drake decided aloud. "In front of them."

Everyone on the bus froze in shock and horror, muscles tensed, fight or flight response kicked into overdrive, fear and disgust making their stomachs roll. Kyle, however, was thinking so fast, mind racing, that the true meaning of his words went right over his head, much to the driver's amusement.

"You already have me." the redhead informed the man evenly, made nervous by the cold metal pressed against his scalp. The man laughed coldly. "Innocence is a beautiful thing." he whispered to the students.

He leveled his weapon at Ike, making sure the redhead could see it, and cocked the gun with a loud click. "You will stay absolutely still and do as I say, or I'll kill this little brat."

"Okay."

If Kyle had known, maybe he would've done anything else. But he didn't, so he merely agreed, trying to find a way out of the situation. To his horror, though, he found hands invasively caressing his skin through his clothes, the gun scratching across his hoodie's zipper with an uncomfortable scrape. The man pressed entirely too close behind him, hips against the boy's backside.

"What are you-" The gun made a sickening _thunk_as it collided with the boy's temple. Kyle's vision swam, knees buckling then locking in an effort to keep control as he tried to blink away his sudden, disarming vertigo.

As awareness halfway crept back to him, he felt a hand fumbling with the button of his jeans and he screamed, thrashing away only to be halted by a gunshot and a pained screech.

Everything fell silent, all eyes on Ike Broflovski, who was clawing frantically at his left thigh around a growing red stain spreading out from the wound. He was crying and hyperventilating and everyone on the bus was too scared to even breathe. Tweek was shaking so badly that Craig was vaguely afraid that he would have a seizure or a panic attack, drawing him into himself to comfort him-slowly, so as not to startle Drake.

He fisted his hand in Kyle's hair, yanking him back so he had to look him in the eye. "I will kill him. I'll kill all of them." he whispered, cocking the gun in his other hand. "So stay still and take it."

Numbly, the redhead allowed himself to be shoved back into his previous position, shaking hands grasping at the chairs as well as he could manage as he stared at his baby brother, watching as he pressed his jacket against the wound. He looked pale. Kyle couldn't blame him.

The digits returned to his buttons and Kyle lowered his head, eyes shut tight in his shame and revulsion as his jeans came undone and were pushed down to his ankles, the man's hips shoving roughly against his again. Drake giggled insanely to himself, demanding of the children, "Watch. If I catch you looking away, I'll kill him."

The class forced themselves to keep looking as Kyle was exposed to the cold night air, boxers joining his jeans on the ground. His cheeks flushed a mortified red and he ducked his head farther, shoulders aching from the awkward positioning as they were pushing back. Drake kicked the boy's feet apart, groaning to himself as he watched the boy shake, groping his hips, his ass, his manhood, wondering why he'd never done this before. The power, the control was intoxicating, he was drunk on it, addicted to it.

Tears beaded in the boy's eyes as he felt himself being explored, humiliation burning his skin as he felt those fingers press against the intimate parts of his body. He screamed and jerked away as pain flashed up his spine at the unwanted intrusion of one's the man's digits, earning another hit to the head with a gun. He almost fell but barely caught himself, trying to focus on the people he was trying to protect to keep him on his feet as another unwanted digit pressed painfully into him, eliciting a frightened sob from his throat.

He watched the first tear of many fall on the floor below him, splashing onto the dusty rubber walkway and soaking up the forgotten dirt there, dark and shiny in the light coming from the moon and the stars, obliviously shining high above. Those filthy invading fingers left his body and he had just enough time to shudder in sheer revulsion before he was roughly, unforgivingly thrust into, feeling something tear inside him as he threw his head back and screamed, a sharp, pained noise, tears running freely down his face.

And the several long minutes to follow would be etched into everyone's memory forever; The pained cries. The satisfied moans. The way Kyle's whole body jerked with each thrust. The way blood trailed down his thighs and his tears puddled on the dirty floor. The way Kyle's nails dug into the fake leather seats. The way Drake molested him and caressed him the gun. The sickening sound of flesh smacking into flesh.

As unconsciousness threatened the edges of his vision, Kyle tried to lurch away, and this time, when the gun met his temple, he felt blood run down his face alongside his tears. He sobbed and Drake moaned loudly, hitting harder into the boy as he reached his climax, the hand with the gun falling near Kyle's hips.

So enraptured with his prey and his impending release, the man almost didn't notice the gun sliding from his fingers, and he most certainly didn't care as he dug his fingers into both the boy's hips and yanked them back into his own, nonsense pouring from his lips as he released into his pretty little victim.

He let go of the boy and Kyle fell to his hands and knees as another gunshot rang through the air.

Ike Broflovski shot his brother's rapist that night.

Nothing would ever be the same.

OoO

_Augh, you wouldn't believe how hard that was to write. I hope it turned out okay. Should I continue it? And if I do, should I make is a friendship fic or a romance?_

_**QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey, here's the pleaded for second chapter... From Cartman._

**Just Kids**

Panic, crying, chaos, screaming, fear, pain. No matter how you spin it, and no matter how horrible the circumstances, this was the kind of situation I was made for. I shoved myself to my feet, calling out above the cacophony of fear authoritatively, "Calm down! Everyone sit down right now!"

Obedient, terrified, in need of guidance, everyone sat, clinging to each other. Everyone except Stan and Kenny, but that's just fine. Stan was on his knees, trying to get Kyle to sit up, and Kenny was hovering over them, fingers splayed, desperate for something to do, tears trickling down his face.

"Both of you." I muttered to them as I approached, "Sit down, I'll pass him to you." They reluctantly backed away, perching themselves in the same seats Kyle had been so peacefully asleep in just a half hour prior.

Now he was most certainly not peaceful or asleep. A pitiful sight, really-curled up in the dirty bus aisle, forehead against his knees, back arched and trembling, hands dug viciously into his hair, lower half exposed and bloody and- Augh. I crouched down, careful not to touch him, and whispered, "Kyle, we really need you to keep it together. Just a little longer. Okay?"

I always had a knack for saying exactly what needed to be heard. His fingers slowly unclenched and he pushed himself up onto his knees with a miserable moan, tears trickling relentlessly down his pale, pained face, eyes dull, lips twisted into a miserable scowl-pout hybrid I had a bad feeling would be permanent in the coming weeks. "C'mon, that's it." I urged, aware that there were two men bleeding to death as we sat there. "Ike needs help, Hm? Calm down, here..." I wrapped my arms around him and stood, ignoring his thrashing and panic, yanking him as gently as I could to his feet and fumbling to pull up his jeans.

I glanced at Ike. He was barely conscious, skin deathly white, hands and makeshift gauze soaked in blood. I had no time to baby Kyle. I hefted him up into my arms and backed up to where Kenny and Stan were anxiously waiting for him, handing him off to them and trying to ignore the sound of his tears joining the other kids' as the pair began to coo and fret over him, desperate to calm him.

Whatever, I couldn't worry about them now. I slipped my jacket from my shoulders as I hurried back over to him, quickly thinking of how best to stop the bleeding. I didn't know anything about bullet wounds! I didn't let my panic show, though, just gently removed the hoodie to examine the wounds through the singed rip in his jeans. Thank God, the bullet burned the flesh enough that it wasn't bleeding all too bad anymore, clotting already. I offered him my hoodie, murmuring for him to keep applying pressure. He nodded sluggishly and I ordered our useless teacher to make sure he stayed awake.

Now for the asshole who hurt Kyle...

The bullet shoved him over, straight into the lap of possibly the worst person he could have possibly fallen on. Tweek Tweak. To my surprise though, when I finally turned my attention to them, I saw the man splayed over both their laps, blood spreading quickly over freaking everything, and Craig crying softly into Tweek's chest, the blond's arms wrapped around his shoulders. Slowly, the coffee addict's hazel eyes rose to meet mine, calm radiating from them in waves. I felt reassured.

I regarded that particular situation for a moment, starting when something cold hit my hand. I glanced over my shoulder at Ike, finding him hazily offering me the gun. "Kill him." he rasped. "Kill him."

Tempting, but no. I carelessly tugged the man up and dragged him as far away from Kyle as possible, noting the large knot on his temple from falling. That must've been what knocked him out. Slumping him against the back of the bus, I shoved the blood-coated gun into Token's waiting hands, meeting his eyes for a moment and seeing a reflective rage burning there. Even Clyde simply looked murderous, as opposed to tearful as I'd expected.

Token leveled the gun at the slumped figured, fingers twitching with the urge to pull the trigger but reluctantly stationary. "Get us out of here." he muttered.

I swept my eyes over my peers. Jimmy looked lost, Butters closer to Professor Chaos than himself, Red seemed to be in shock, Bebe and Wendy both seemed comatose, poor boy and the hippie were struggling to keep Kyle conscious (weary of the hits he'd taken to the head), Mr. Garrison was leading Ike through reciting Shakespeare in an effort to keep him awake, Craig was practically in Tweek's lap, breaking down in public for the very first time in all the twelve years I've known him...

I hopped up into the driver's seat, mentally totaling the damage. Two bullet wounds, one panic attack, one super villain waiting to happen, three people who seem frozen, and a couple psychological breaks. Oh, and a fifteen year old with a gun. Not bad, I guess.

I revved the engine, clicking on the headlights and the ceiling lights, doing my best soothe my peers with light and vision. I scanned the kids again in the mirror as I started to turn around on the narrow dirt path so we can find a town. "Tweek." I addressed the most levelheaded person in the group, conveniently right behind me. I tossed him my smart phone. "The password is five nine, five three. When we have signal, call nine one one immediately, do you understand?"

"Got it." he muttered. His pants and the bottom of his shirt were soaked with blood and he wiped the excess lifeliquid of his hands before operating the device, keeping one arm around the similarly blood-soaked noirette beside him, still in hysterics. I started moving, speeding down the road, occasionally glancing up at my peers. Red was crying now, Butters looking torn between maniac and grievous. Ike was barely conscious and despite Stan and Kenny's best efforts, Kyle was out for the count. I could hardly blame the poor thing.

"I've got a signal!" Tweek called, and the bus visibly sagged in relief. We'd be okay.

Tweek put it on speaker. "Clarion and Venango County 911, what is your emergency?"

The blond parted his lips but I broke in hurriedly, "My name is Eric Cartman. I am driving a bus towards Highway 80 off a dirt path in the middle of nowhere. I have an unconscious man with a bullet in his shoulder and an twelve year old with a bullet in his leg. I also have a rape victim who's currently unconscious and a dozen or so other kids."

The woman was thrown for a loop for a moment, but recovered quickly. "What is your exact location?"

"We don't know. Can you trace our call?"

"Yes sir, help is on the way. Please stay on the line and pull over."

I growled. "I'll pull over when I hit highway eighty."

The woman sighed. "Sir, I need you to pull over."

"Ma'am, I need to get these kids someplace safe."

Leaving the topic alone, the woman asked for names and details in between making orders for ambulances to come our way. "We're a high school field trip." I told her. "Our teacher is Mr. Garrison and we're from South Park, Colorado. The original bus driver was a man who's last name, I believe, was Drake."

"Johnathan Drake." Mr. Garrison piped up, shaking Ike slightly. "Johnathan Drake. He took the bus hostage, shot Isaac Broflovski in the leg, and raped his older brother, Kyle Broflovski. Ike took the gun while he was distracted and shot him in the shoulder-he's unconscious in the back of the bus, I have a Token Black with the gun trained on him."

"A token black?"

"That's his name, ma'am. Token Black."

"We've located you and there is an ambulance heading your way, as well as two police officers."

"Good."

OoO

I got them to the highway, where we waited maybe five minutes for the ambulances. They quickly took Ike and Kyle (practically prying him from Stan and Kenny), as well as Drake, speeding off towards the Clarion Hospital. I talked to the police officers for a while and got it worked out that we would stay the night in the spare rooms at the hospital and we'd be put on a plane home tomorrow, funded by the state. Drake was handcuffed to his hospital bed and physically stable-turns out he didn't take some sort of medicine for a severe mental issue.

The girls were in a room all on their own, tucked away and safe. Ike was undergoing surgery to remove the bullet. Butters had been convinced to remain Butters. Token and Clyde were currently seeing to it that Jimmy got to his room and had a place to retire themselves, and Tweek took charge of Craig and has already gotten him to sleep and was, last I heard, watching over him.

Kyle... Had a concussion, and severe... Tearing. The results of the rape kit would come back tomorrow, so we wouldn't know the extent of the damage until then. He was asleep at current.

It was four in the morning by the time I got everyone at the very least settled down and all the details worked out for what was going to happen-how we'd get to the airport, who all was going back, so on and so forth. The Broflovskis, the Marshes and my mom were all unreachable for the moment, so with nothing else to do, I finally made my way to Kyle's room.

He looked small in that hospital bed, covered only by thin sheets and a thinner hospital gown, a bandage wrapped around his head, that same scowl-pout twisting his lips miserably. I tore my eyes away from him to the pair on the couch, unable to sum up any emotion at seeing them clinging to each other, Kenny's hands clenched in Stan's shirt and his legs across his lap, Stan's arms wrapped around him, back hunched slightly as though he were trying to protect the blond. They were both still awake but unresponsive, the raven's eyes fixed on the foot of the hospital bed and the blond's on his hands.

Sluggishly, I sat down next to them and put my head in my hands, promptly falling apart into hysterical tears.

We were just kids.

OoO

_What pairing, guys?_

_**QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Welcome to February._

**Need Some Sleep**

Kyle woke for the first time around six AM.

In true Kyle fashion, the first words out of his mouth, before we'd even registered that yes, indeed, he _was _painfully awake, were simply, "Is Ike okay?"

The surgery had gone without a hitch, I'd found out an hour or so before, and I told him as much, stammering a bit in my exhausted state. I don't think I'll ever forget the way he looked just then-small and broken and relieved, but his smile at learning of his brother's safety waned quickly. "Everyone's okay?"

I nodded silently, feeling tears sting my eyes again and wiping at them quickly with my sleeve, glancing at the other half of our group only to find more brave faces. I sucked in a breath and met his dull green eyes again, watching him slowly look from me down to his wrist, where an IV of some sort of clear liquid was slowly trickling medication into his veins.

"So that really happened, then." he murmured. His voice was flat. I nodded again and his eyes immediately slammed shut, horror taking over his features as he slowly and painfully sat up, that terrible pout-scowl twisting his lips into unnatural grief. He hid his face in his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and beginning to shake. I didn't know what to do-what in the world _can_you do, really?

Stan seemed to know. He shoved himself to his feet with the air of a man who hasn't moved in years and stumbled towards the fragile little redhead, venom not intended for us staining his words as his demanded we leave. "Get out. I'll take care of it."

I turned to obey, but Kenny was stuck in place, face blank, hands clenching and unclenching restlessly at his sides. I gently grabbed him by the arm and steered him away as Stan carefully, wearily climbed into the hospital bed to comfort his super-best. The blond remained compliant and quiet as we walked, my fingers still wrapped around his upper arm as though to keep him from drifting away with some undercurrent neither of us could see.

I got us lost, though. The hospital seemed to be am endless maze of white walls and wooden doors with wire-meshed windows and graveyard shift nurses rushing past. My eyes were bleary and my mind was ready to shut down. I hadn't slept since the Incident early that morning and I was on the verge of collapsing, so eventually, I just gave up and let go of poor Kenny, leaning heavily against the wall of some random hospital hallway and letting my eyes fall shut.

No one wanted to let me rest, though, and a moment later, my blond charge had tucked himself under my chin, his trembling fists clenched in my jacket, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. I looked blearily down at him, annoyed but unwilling to make him move. "I should've done s-something." he mourned, voice thick with tears and grief and leaning closer to Mysterion. "I could've saved him."

I wished I'd done something, too.

Slowly, I wrapped my arms around his thin, bony shoulders and tried to tell him it'd be okay. But I didn't feel like lying, so in the end, I didn't say anything at all. And that was fine.

OoO

I don't know how long we stayed there, but eventually, a police officer found us and ordered me to gather up everyone that was going home. I'm not sure where Kenny went-I could hardly walk straight by this point, leave alone think. He probably found his way back to Kyle.

Miracle of miracles, I found Tweek, and where there's Tweek, there's coffee. He silently offered me a styrofoam cup full of coffee as though he'd been waiting for me to show. I wordlessly downed the bitter liquid he'd handed me, scalding my throat. "You know where everyone is?" I asked after a moment, noting belatedly that his calmness hadn't seemed to have so much as faltered since I'd last seen him several hours prior. He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to me, letting me glance over the list of names and room numbers as I fought to full consciousness.

"Hm. So, we need to get Red, Butters, Jimmy, Bebe, Wendy, and Clyde home, definitely." I shot him a sideways glance, taking in the familiar yet strange sight of a very calm, collected Tweek Tweak. He was surprisingly tall when he wasn't slouched over, I realized, maybe the tallest kid in class. "Has Craig pulled himself together?"

"No." the blond muttered, staring down into his styrofoam cup. "He's broken."

I processed this for a few long moments. "So you can't stay to help." He shook his head and I sighed, biting my lip. "Gather everyone up and get them to the lobby, Tweek. I'm going to see what kind of position Token is in-I don't know what we'll be up against these next couple days and I might need another level head."

He nodded with a humorless smile and turned on his heel, back straight, strides long and steady. Tweek, it would seem, was just as broken as his best friend.

OoO

I found Token in room number twenty-eight, looking like he'd hardly slept. He sat watching as Clyde slept restlessly, slouched and apathetic. His eyes slowly rose to mine, tired, face drawn. "Don't ask me to stay here." he pleaded with a strange emotion in his dark brown gaze, voice breaking a little. "Please."

I regarded him silently, eyes no doubt accusing and disapproving, maybe even annoyed. He wilted a little and I grudgingly realized just how shaken up he was. "I need some sleep." he whispered, words not for my ears. I sighed and told him to get himself and Clyde down to the lobby to leave.

OoO

There was simply nothing more unpleasant than being woken from a deep slumber by the obnoxious sound of a phone ringing. Most especially after a long, hard night of drinking.

Randy groaned unhappily, cringing away from his wife's sleepily smacking hands and urges to, _'answer the damn phone, Randy.'_He sat up with another moan of pain, cradling his head in his hands and wondering vaguely if Liane and the Broflovskis and everyone else had gotten home alright as he reached for the phone, noting he had several missed calls from an unfamiliar, out of state number.

"M-marsh residence." he muttered, standing to go find painkiller and coffee. "Randall speaking."

"Mr. Marsh, this is Eric Cartman." The man rolled his eyes out of reflex at the authoritative tone the insane teen took up. _Brat_. "You need to contact the Broflovskis and tell them to make arrangements to get to the hospital in Emelton, PA." His tone took on a harsh edge. "We've been trying to contact you for hours. Get yourselves up here, too, your son is hysterical."

Randy tensed, shaking his head as sobriety crashed down on him. He glanced at the clock-Two PM.

Soon, the phone was ringing off the hook with calls-The Stotches, the Valmers, the Testaburgers, the Tweaks, the Tuckers, the Stevens, the Blacks and the Donovans had all just received exhausted children with blank expressions, trembling fingertips and a silent, cold disposition. "I don't know what happened!" Sharon insisted, holding the phone to her ear with one hand and booking flights to Pennsylvania for three-thirty with the other. They'd have to leave soon.

OoO

_I know this is a little short, but I really need to decide what pairings I need to build the story around. Please check out THE POLL ON MY PROFILE to vote._

_**QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_Why hello there._

**A Little Broken**

I'd managed to grab a taxi alone with Craig and I was grateful, watching how the other kids reacted to being separated from their designated partners throughout last night. Craig, upon settling in, immediately curled up and laid his head in my lap, setting a clenched fist on my leg, close to his face as if he were subtly trying to hide from whatever it was that was haunting him.

I set one hand on his head and the other over his fist, tilting my head back as the driver began the long drive from the Denver International Airport to South Park at the local police force's instruction. I didn't say anything-there was no point. He hadn't said a word since he told me goodnight, several hours before the Incident. That was okay, though.

There was a sort of strength in my blood that I couldn't possibly explain. I imagined this was how mothers felt when they needed to protect their children, or maybe how people felt when they were dying. Eerily calm. Analytical. Strong. Solid. I stared down at my hands, the way my pale, spindly fingers contrasted the dark shade of Craig's overlong hair and how large they seemed wrapped around his.

I'd never noticed before today that I'm taller than Craig. And Cartman. Vaguely, I wondered if said brunette was fairing all right, a spike of guilt piercing my stomach. I needed to take care of Craig, I defended myself against no one. And watch out for the kids here.

I wish I had coffee.

OoO

This is a familiar picture.

He strode confidently into the hospital lobby, letting in a gust of cool morning wind to sweep across the floors and curl about the ankles of the sparse persons working the desk. This man was a walking stereotype-black business suit over a white button down shirt and red tie, smartphone pressed against his ear, rolex watch shining on his wrist, a severe, serious expression stuck on his face as he rapid-fired instructions to whoever was on the other end of his connection-a young, but influential businessman.

"I'll call you back in a couple hours, understood?" he farewelled, catching the receptionist's mildly perturbed expression and hastily adding, "Say hi to your little girl for me, huh, Steve?"

Instantly, the woman working the desk got the impression that he was usually much more friendly. She smiled widely at him, inclining her head towards him as he reached the desk. "What can I do for you, sir?" she asked politely, tucking a stray lock of bleached-blond hair behind her ear.

He nodded a little, as though to himself, as he opened up his phone, clicking away to find something. "I need the room numbers of Jonathan Drake and... Kyle... Broflovski?"

The nurse's expression faltered into a look of pity. "I'm sorry, but both of those young men are friends and family only at the moment. Are you either of their lawyers?"

The man sighed, irritated. "I'm Johnny's older brother."

Instantly, a wall flew up between the pair, the receptionist looking quite like she thought him, well, an insane rapist, just like his baby brother. The businessman fought a cringe and smiled at her. "His room number, ma'am?"

"... Three oh two, up the stairs on your left." she muttered icily. With a murmured thank you, the man spun on his heel and made for said room, confident posture somewhat diminished.

Ladies and gentlemen, Jacob Drake.

OoO

I paused at the contact of cool, worn metal on my palm, wondering at how I still put up with all this. I was only a little older than nineteen when it all started-when our parents fell out of the frame. Within a couple months, I started being called to my little brother's school. At first it was just little things-bullying, vandalism, storming out of the classroom, refusing to do work-but then it was fighting and after that, cigarettes and alcohol in school... I shook my my head. Offices, hospital rooms, prison cells, asylum quarters, it was really all the same. Every time he stopped taking those damned pills...

I shoved the door open and stepped inside, head forward, eyes down. I heard him shift against the sheets and I let myself war between anger and worry for a moment, fingers clenching into involuntary fists at my sides as I slowly let my eyes wander up to his familiar brown gaze. He always looked too big for himself in hospital beds, feet dangerously close to hanging off, arms tucked awkwardly about himself, as though he simply... Didn't fit.

"Johnny..." I sighed, and he lowered his eyes as though I were his mom instead of his brother. He cradled his head in hands, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

"I fucked up." he rasped, voice hoarse from pain and tears. "I really fucked up this time."

I nodded despite the fact that I didn't have his attention. He sat up stiffly, cradling his left arm to his chest and drawing up his knees, and I saw that his shoulder was bandaged up-from the bullet, a small voice in the back of my head supplied. I couldn't decide whether or not I was angry with whoever had shot him. I stared at the light reflecting the handcuff latching my baby brother to the cold hospital cot by his right wrist, the one with all the scars.

Movements sluggish, I found my way to a chair by his bedside. "Johnny-cakes," I murmured, using the nickname I had when he was just a kid, struggling through English because he didn't want to read The Outsiders, "What am I going to do with you..?"

There were tears shining on his cheeks and though my chest ached, my eyes stayed dry. No point in crying, a cynical part of myself told me. It's never helped anything. "What am I going to do?" he wailed, a rhetorical question. I took his hand in mine and tried to catch his eyes-he was working himself up to a panic attack. "I'll take care of it." I swore quietly, rubbing my thumb over the back of his rough-skinned knuckles.

As he slowly calmed, I stood again, and the softness of big brother Jake faded away. I'm the bigshot, the tycoon, the puppetmaster, if you will, and I'm ready to start pulling strings.

OoO

He was curled up against the headboard, sore, tired, numb, alone and frightened-green eyes clenched shut against the bright white of the hospital room, against the turmoil of the past few hours, against the noise and the beeping and-"Mr. Broflovski?"

Said teen uncurled just enough to peek out at the woman decked out in a nurse's uniform at his door, eyes wide and frightened. "Ma'am?" he whispered politely, feeling his eyes sting just slightly at the way the woman's practiced kindness collapsed into pity. She smiled and lowered her voice as though not to startle him, "There's someone here to see you."

For a moment, Kyle fully, one-hundred percent believed that his parents would walk through the door right then and his mother would hold him and his father would promise to get _him_locked away forever and everything would eventually be okay. But, much to his dismay, it was simply not to be, and instead, a stranger walked through his door. Tall, clean cut, professional, hard eyes... A lawyer, he thought vaguely. Or maybe just a businessman.

"Did Dad send you?" the redhead whispered to the newcomer as he approached the foot of his bed, curling tighter in on himself. The man smiled a cold smile and shook his head, and instantly Kyle shrank back, hiding his face in his knees and muffledly asking him to take leave. He didn't, however, choosing instead to introduce himself.

"My name is Jacob Drake." The teen looked up at him but showed no signs of recognition. "Jonathan Drake's older brother."

Having expected the child to cringe at the mention of his little brother, the man frowned, confused, when the boy remained silent and lost. Deciding to back up and go another direction, he supplied, "I'm the CEO of The Draconian Law Firm." He tried to make not sound like a question, causing his voice to come out harsh. The boy flinched but recognition bloomed across his painfully young face.

"My dad idolizes you." he murmured, respect flickering in his green irises. He was a very pretty boy, Mr. Drake realized with a stroke of entirely out of place fondness. Very pretty, even in his broken, disheveled state, with vividly green eyes and shockingly red hair. "Who is your dad?" the man asked in a somewhat conversation manner, a sudden voice in the back of his mind whispering a name that should've been familiar to him.

"Gerald Broflovski."

The man blinked, struggling to keep his cool. "Is that so. Well, that's not why I'm here, idle chatter and all. I'm here to talk about compensation and charges."

Kyle, uncertain and confused, looked over Drake's shoulder as though hoping someone would come and take him away. "I don't understand. You aren't... You aren't my lawyer. Why are you here?" He began to absently scratch at his legs, fear bleeding pitifully into his words. "I don't want you here, go away. Where's... Where's Stan? Where'd Stan go? Why are... Why are you here? What do you want?"

He was close to tears, nails frantically ripping apart the skin beneath them, fighting back his irrational fear. He took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself as Drake formed an answer. "Young man, I'm here to see what I can do to get you to drop the charges against my little brother. Technically, it is ultimately your parents' decision, but with your help, we can get the case dropped."

Kyle shook his head, confused. "Who... You're _his _brother?" Panic struck the boy quite suddenly and he flinched away, reaching blindly for the panic button only to have it snatched away. He stared at it for several long moments, clutched within the man's long, graceful fingers. His own hand drifted to the bruises along his hips and he shuddered violently before falling still, only just resisting the urge to bury his face in his knees once more. "What's his name again?" he asked brokenly, realizing for the first time that he didn't know.

"Jonathan Drake."

The teens lips formed the words but no sound came out. Instantly, Kyle decided that _his _name would never pass his lips and, fighting back tears, he murmured, "You want me to drop the charges?"

His rapist's brother nodded slowly, a bit of guilt that didn't show on his face rising in his chest. "You see, he witnessed our father do terrible things to our mother when he was very little, and he has severe PTSD as well as a mild form of schizophrenia, and if his medication weakens too much before he has to take his next dose, he doesn't take it and things like this happen." he explained gently. "He's a good man, just a a little broken. He didn't mean to hurt anybody."

"This isn't the first time this has happened?" Kyle questioned emotionlessly, face hidden once more behind his hands. The man blinked slowly, subconsciously feeling along his jaw. "No." he responded truthfully. "Well, no one's ever gotten, erm, raped during one of his... Episodes... Before now..."

Slowly, Kyle started to shake his head, cruel laughter erupting from his throat. He flung a hand out and it took Mr. Drake a moment to realize that he was gesturing to a hospital report sitting on the bedside table. "Please." he implored coldly, laughter subsiding, "Do the honors of being the first to read it."

Setting down the panic button, the man rounded the bed to the other side, picking up the report and clearing his throat loudly. He scanned down the list, occasionally grimacing or cringing. After several long, tense moments, the man set the papers down beside the boy and asked the first thing that popped into his head.

"You have Chlamydia?"

The boy whipped his head up to look at him, shock evident on his face. "I have _Chlamydia_?" He snatched up the papers and started rifling through them.

Awkwardly, Mr. Drake shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Do you, ah, think you gave it to my brother?"

A cold green glare shot up to meet his gaze strongly for the first time. "I was a virgin. He gave it to _me_. Get out or I'll have you thrown out, and I'm _not _dropping the charges."

OoO

I found my way back to Kyle's room from finding Stan and Kenny a place to sleep just in time to watch an angry man in a suit stomp out, eyes on the ground and hands clenched into menacing fists. The man registered automatically as a threat and I felt myself bristle at the thought of him messing with my Jew. Niceties tossed aside, I grabbed him by the arm as he strode past, stopping him in place and earning a hard glare.

"What do you want, Kid?" he snarled. I scowled and drew myself up to my full height-we were almost even-and snarled right back, "I want to know what the fuck you were doing in there."

The man paused and regarded me, eyes sweeping down my form as though sizing me up. I released my grip and crossed my arms over my chest, giving him my best defiant stare. I am in control, I tried to tell him silently. The asshole smirked. "What is he to you?"

Without missing a beat, I snapped back, "Mine, so fuck off."

His smirk widened. "Good luck with that, son." and in an instant, he was gone, down the hall and out of sight. I felt my lips pull into a angry scowl but, after a moment, decided to let it go, figuring I'd probably never have to deal with him again and choosing instead to check up on Kyle.

I pushed the door open slowly, immediately greeted by the unsure whimpering of one who has only just begun to cry. I wanted to scream, to yell, to kill something-I... kind of wanted to cry with him.

But instead, I just took a deep breath and pushed my way in, intent on taking care of my Jew.

OoO

There was a heavy sense of peace in the air that seemed entirely out of place considering the events of the last hours. I could feel sleep tugging at me yet it would not come-there was a strong instinct to leave Kenny and go find Kyle again.

Kyle would be upset if I didn't sleep, though. No need to worry him any more. And Kenny, his back pressed anxiously against mine, was invitingly warm. In my mind's eyes, I numbly relived again and again the way Kyle's blood trickled down his thighs, the way his tears pooled on the ground, the way he shook...

There was a shift behind me and suddenly, a warm, heavy limb draped across my waist and tucked itself against my chest, the feel of Kenny's warm body curling against mine both infinitely soothing and endlessly disconcerting. I let out a long, shuddering breath as he snaked an arm into the space between my neck and the thin mattress. I opened my eyes and blinked slowly at the feel of an echoing sigh fanning over my neck, not bothering to really try and see in the darkened room.

"Sleep, Stan." he whispered and I instantly felt much, much more tired. I lazily grabbed his palm from it's place pressed against my heart and interlocked our fingers. "Kay." I murmured back complacently.

OoO

_Peek a boo, here I am. ^^ Hullo everybody! How are you? Anyway, I'm stuck between three main choices on Kyle-K2, Kyman and no pairing. Leaning pretty far towards no pairing. Also considering ending the story in a couple chapters and writing a sequel, in which case it will certainly be Style because I said so and imma bus._

_**QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_Welcome to the next chapter of Gun._

**Serious and Sober**

Perhaps, if anyone's pain could rival the actual victims' in this story, it would be the pain of the parents-The Broflovskis, in particular.

Could you possibly imagine their mother's heartbreak? After spending the better part of the last two decades protecting her boys with the ferocity of a tiger and the trigger response of Africanized bees... _This _happens. Both her boys were in a hospital, she had no idea what had happened, and she was stuck standing in front of a child, aware that she was at his mercy and only a moment away from begging him to tell her what had happened to her precious babies.

Cartman fixed Sheila with a level look, but, sensing her state of mental disrepair, switched his gaze to the ever calm Gerald. "Ike was shot." he stated definitely. Time seemed to stand still for Sheila-she felt like she was falling. "Kyle was raped."

Strike that, she felt like she'd already fallen, wind ripped from her lungs, pain embedding itself in everything she was. Outwardly, though, she merely blinked, pressing her palm to her lips as though she might throw up. Her husband, shoulders slumped, took her other hand as the Marshes switched back and forth between staring at the Broflovskis and at the boy who seemed, in that moment, to rule their world. "Stan?" Randy choked out.

Cartman's lips pulled into a scowl. "He had to watch. We all did. He's asleep. With Kenny. They're okay. Room three oh seven. Don't wake them up."

Quick decisions, quick decisions were never Randy's strong front. He glanced anxiously between his best friend, trying desperately to comfort his wife, and the stairs, where he could find his son. Luckily, though, he was married. "You go." Sharon muttered. "I'll stay with them."

OoO

Randy Marsh could be easily viewed as a silly man. Overdramatic, not very bright, a bit of a drunk. Now, though, he felt more sober, more serious than he ever had in his entire life. Kyle was like his own, always had been... But at the moment, he knew that he could be more help to the two boys beyond this wooden door.

The hinges creaked ever so slightly as he pushed his way into the dark, warm room, squinting to see the form on the bed. Forms, he realized belatedly, trying to sum up an emotional response to the sight of his unconscious son cuddling with his hoodrat best friend. As the door shut slowly with a quiet click, Kenny's eyes flashed over and met his immediately, glinting dangerously in the sparse light. There was no real emotion in his stare-he hadn't even the decency to look a little abashed at being caught this way. His eyes flickered to the chair by the bed and back to him and, obediently, Randy sat, watching as Kenny tightened his grip on his son and shut his eyes once more in a sort of pseudo sleep.

That was okay, Randy supposed. They must've both been tired and shaken.

OoO

This time, Kyle had been sure that he could have his mother's arms and his father's promises. Surely, the moment his parents walked through the door -Cartman had promised they would- his mother would sweep him up and his father would ruffle his hair and calmly tell him that everything would be fine.

But when the door opened and his parents bustled in, his father was crying -not calm at all- apologies he didn't understand yet falling from his lips, and his mother was a storm. "Tell them!" she shrieked, face bright red and soaked in tears, voice edging on hysteric, "Tell them it's a lie!"

"Wh-what's a lie, mama?" Kyle asked quietly, one last bit of trust and relief shining in his eyes as he stared hopefully towards his mother.

Sheila shook her head, taking long strides to her son's bedside, snatching up his hand and looking into his eyes. "Honey," she murmured, a little more calm, blinking more tears from her mirroring green eyes, "You tell those doctors that you weren't raped, you hear? You tell them that they're wrong!"

Shock replaced the softer emotions in Kyle's eyes. "Mama, what are you talking about?" he demanded gently, not letting it sink in what, exactly, it was that she was going on about.

"You weren't raped, _Bubbeleh_. Tell them they're wrong, tell them you lied!"

Tears began to burn his eyes and, someplace far away, he felt his father grab his hand. "Mama..." She hugged him tightly around his chest, jostling injuries, but Kyle hardly felt it in the face of his mother's denial. "Mama, it's true."

His mother continued to sob denial into his chest and he limply wrapped his arms around her shoulders, emotions melting from his eyes as he stared at his father, imaging each numb tear filled with his sorrow, falling down his face to dissolve in his mother's wild hair, gone forever. Gerald reached out to ruffle his hair, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, Kyle mourned that he could not hear his father's words of comfort over his mother's sobs echoing in his ears.

OoO

I stood shoulder to shoulder with Sharon in the doorway, watching the devastation imploding before us on that damned hospital bed. I watched Mrs. Broflovski cry for her son and I thought that, on some level, that her tears would eventually help Kyle cope. Watching his father, I witnessed an unnerving change in him-hatred. It burned in his eyes and I thought privately that Gerald had probably hated very few things in his life.

"You're strong." Sharon observed. It wasn't a compliment, just a statement. I smiled wryly. "I know. I need to make a couple of calls, please excuse me."

Tweek, first off. Still walking, vaguely in the direction of Stan and Kenny's room, I picked up my phone and found his number in my contacts list. I had no idea how it got there, but that was just one of those things that come from growing up in a small town-you have everyone's number.

It rang for so long that I almost thought he wouldn't pick up. "Tweek Bros. Coffee." he answered with a sense of long habit. He coughed and I smirked a little as he corrected, "It's Tweek, sorry. Old habits die hard."

He still sounded like, well, a normal person. Made me wonder how Craig was holding up. "I need you to find out who all is willing to testify against Drake. Can you do that for me?"

I heard him shifting on the other end and for some reason, it spiked concern in my gut. "Yeah... Yeah. Craig finally fell asleep, I'll... Make some calls..."

"You okay, Tweekers?" The nickname fell so easily from my lips that it disoriented me for a moment, but he laughed a little, and that was all I really wanted. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

And I hung up. Seemed appropriate. I had more calls to make anyway.

OoO

"Drake, I've gotta tell it to you straight. John is going to do some serious time, and the best lawyer in the world couldn't change that."

I flinched. "There has to be _something _that can-"

A heavy sigh interrupted my panic. "Drake, he raped a sixteen year old kid in front of a bunch of other sixteen year olds and shot a twelve year old after consciously deciding to not take his medication. There is no way out of this."

I remained silent for a long time, trying to imagine my brother behind bars for the next couple decades. It made my chest hurt. Steve Zheir seemed to sense my next question before I could find the strength to voice it. "Yeah, we could plead insanity, but the chances of the court swallowing that? Pretty low. He decided to stop taking the pills. And even if we _do _convince them he was unable to rationalize at the time of the crime, we're looking at the rest of his life in an asylum."

I sucked in a long, painful breath, suddenly remembering the first time he was admitted.

He'd come to my room in the middle of the night. I wasn't awake, not yet. He climbed into my bed, curled up next to me, and slit his wrists.

I'd woken soaked in his blood, his body jerking in an oddly lifeless way beside me as I scrambled to turn on the lights and dispel the nightmare that wasn't a nightmare. He almost died that night, and social services forced me to admit him to a local mental hospital for a few months. 'At the most', they'd said, but he was there for just under a year. He was fifteen then.

He had hated it. He tried suicide twice more before they managed to take away anything his creative mind could think of to kill himself with. He refused medication on several occasions and ran away a couple times and starved himself... I had to admit him again a few months later for him to get help with anorexia.

"I... I have to go." I swallowed and hung up before Steve could respond.

I looked up at the door to John's room, hearing someone scream in some far off hallway. I couldn't bring myself to care. John's face... It was the face he'd worn every time I had to admit him. And now I had to send him back.

In that moment, I realized that I hate my parents.

OoO

Guilt is a strange thing. You'd think that if such a powerful negative emotion could spawn from your actions, it would occur to you before you took said actions that what you were doing was wrong.

I suppose I could be excused, in a way, but my chest ached, reminding me that no matter what my mind told me, I should have known better than to skip my pills. It's my fault, it's all my fault, and the guilt of destroying those children was eating me alive.

My name is Jonathan Drake and this is my eighth suicide attempt.

OoO

_Hello, peeps. I've decided that this will either be no main pairing or Kyman, and that I'm going to be writing several short books for this story. I think the next one will be called, "A Lock and a Glance." Either that or "A Lock and a Knife."_

_**QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!**_


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